


Heaven and Hell Were Words to Me

by eyeslikeonyx, iaintafraidofnoghostbear, trashcoon (steven_damnkos)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, First Time, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Roughly Built around Puritan Beliefs and the Salem Witch Trials, very roughly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikeonyx/pseuds/eyeslikeonyx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/steven_damnkos/pseuds/trashcoon
Summary: The people of the village believe Nolan may be a witch, leading the minister to suggest that marriage to a good, pious man could save him.
Relationships: Nolan Patrick/Ivan Provorov
Comments: 25
Kudos: 201





	Heaven and Hell Were Words to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the gc for your support/ideas <3

Nolan shifts uncomfortably, sucking in a silent breath when his father’s hand digs into his thigh. He tries to hold still, to focus on the sermon but it’s difficult with his backside throbbing. They’re called back by the minister and Nolan feels dread clutch at his chest. He kneels when directed, accepting the extra blessing he’s given silently. 

“There are still rumors,” the minister tells his father in a solemn voice. "Rumors so strong that they are nearly accusations."

“I’m doing all I can. The boy is - well. You've seen him.” 

Nolan bows his head further, chewing on his lips to keep quiet and calm. What is said next feels like a kick to the chest. 

“I’m afraid it’s no longer enough. Too many people have approached me with their concerns and fears. Witchcraft, they say.” 

There is a long, heavy pause then. “What would you suggest?” Nolan’s father says, voice terrifyingly quiet.

“I would suggest marriage. He’s more than old enough, and being wed to a good, devout man would be good for him and may serve to cure whatever . . . affliction it is that he suffers from.” 

Nolan can hear the tension in his father's voice when speaks again. "Do you have someone in mind?" 

"Young Mr. Provorov is about the right age. And he's a pious man. If there is any man who can save your son, he would be my first choice."

“...Very well. If you see him, let him know I wish to speak with him. Thank you, Minister.” 

“Good day to you, Mr. Patrick.” 

Nolan's all but hauled to his feet, pulled along like a naughty child. “I should’ve sent you out the moment you were old enough,” his father hisses. “Perhaps someone else would have been able to beat some sense into you.” 

Nolan manages to keep it together long enough to make it to the barn to milk the cows. He sobs into the side of one as he works, letting her steady warmth soothe him. 

Ivan Provorov calls on him the next day. He stands on the outside of the fence, his soft, low voice inquiring about Nolan’s day as his father stands watch. Nolan tries to be polite, all too aware of what failure could cost him. It’s a relief when Ivan gives him a smile and asks his father if he may come by again later in the week. 

* * *

  
  


Ivan isn’t amused by the murmur that goes through the congregation when his intent to marry Nolan Patrick is announced by the minister. Several people glance at him in confusion, others in concern, and yet others in scorn. Those same looks are cast at Nolan, who never looks up but whose cheeks flush deeply. Although he isn’t exactly fond of the man, Ivan is grateful that the minister silences the gossiping for the moment, asking if there are any objections to their match. When none arise, he carries on directly into his sermon. 

Of course, Ivan should have been expected to be pulled aside once service was over. 

“You know the boy is a witch,” Evgeny warns quietly, casting a glance toward where Nolan is being led out of the church by his father. “You’ve seen his fits and heard the stories people tell about the creatures he rears and the people he’s cured.” 

“I hardly believe that he’s a witch; troubled, perhaps, but a steady hand and steady faith can sort out all manner of trouble,” Ivan counters. “And one would think that healing is a gift, not a curse; what interest in helping the sick would the Devil have? I rather think that this all quite overblown.” 

Evgeny shakes his head. “Perhaps it’s best it’s you his father chose, then. I don’t know that another man would even let him in the door.” 

Shaking his head, Ivan bids him a good day, heading for home. There’s much work to be done, including cleaning. He knows that, once they’re married, Nolan will be in charge of most of the housework, but Ivan refuses to live as slovenly as some bachelors are wont to do. Although his house isn’t much, he’s proud of what he’s managed to build. It’s warm in the winter, as last year proved, and roomy enough to allow for a family. 

The farm itself is doing well for his second summer. It’s a lot of work, but he’d had help from friends and neighbors with planting, returning the favor when it came time for their fields to be planted. His chickens have begun to lay, and his goats keep him in milk and cheese. 

Looking over the swept floor and made bed, Ivan tries to picture Nolan in the space, part of his heart already aching for the young man who can barely make eye contact and whose sleeves barely cover the bruises left around his wrists. He highly doubts that Nolan is a witch, in the sense that the people here believe; in fact, he doubts that he’s anything more than a troubled young man who needs to find peace. Regardless, Ivan prays for him at bedtime, asking mercy for them both before he falls asleep. 

  
  


* * *

Nolan’s dowry is small, but Ivan is in no position to protest; just days ago, a witch hunter had come calling at the Patricks’, sending Mr. Patrick on a tirade and Nolan into one of his fits. Only the absence of any unusual creatures and Nolan’s pending marriage had spared him for the time being; to drag out the engagement by contesting the dowry could easily put Nolan in jeopardy. 

They marry in the church at the minister’s urging, a short and simple ceremony only attended by themselves, Nolan’s father, and a few curious townsfolk. Nolan is silent and sullen through it all, save for when he repeats his vows. 

Ivan is nervous for the first time when he’s walked his husband to his new home and realizes he needs to leave him to go check on the animals and get the cattle settled in the pasture. 

“Please, make yourself at home. I’ll be back soon.” Ivan leaves him, praying he’ll still be there when he gets back. Thankfully, Nolan is. He has a bit of embroidery in his hands, something delicate and floral that Ivan only manages to get a glimpse of before it’s being folded away. 

“I started a stew. I hope that’s alright,” Nolan murmurs. Ivan’s a bit surprised, but the stew looks good and smells better, Nolan obviously having taken advantage of the dried herbs and meat. 

“Very much so. Thank you.” 

The rest of their day passes quietly. Ivan goes out one more time to check on the animals before bed. He strips down to his long shirt, folding his clothes over the chair by the bed. Nolan follows, only in his chemise as they settle down. 

Ivan’s gentle in pulling Nolan to him, feeling the tension in his body. His lips are hesitant, but he yields to the press of Ivan’s mouth. His body rouses as one would expect, and Ivan takes his time in preparing him, watching his face in the low candle light for any sign of pain. There’s wariness, flickers of fear and apprehension that slowly give away to confusion and - eventually - surprised pleasure. It’s gift to watch as Nolan’s body wins the battle over his mind and he finds his release, eyes closed and lips parted as he moans in the quiet of their home. 

He falls asleep in Ivan’s arms afterward, as sweet and docile as a kitten. Ivan kisses his forehead, saying prayers on behalf of them both. 

* * *

  
  


Nolan wakes slowly. It’s barely dawn, light only just starting to chase the darkness from their room. Ivan breathes deeply, steadily, strong arms still around Nolan. It gives Nolan time to consider the day before. Ivan is kind, far kinder and gentler than Nolan had even dared to hope. He’d been told of the kind of pain and violence he could expect from being bedded, especially his first time. Certainly, he’s sore, body stretched in ways it’s unaccustomed to, but there had been no pain, no terror, no intent to hurt. 

Ivan sighs, a long inhale signaling that he’s awake. A moment or two pass before he blinks his eyes open, looking up at the ceiling before looking down at Nolan. He smiles gently, leaning forward enough to kiss Nolan on the forehead. “Good morning, dear husband.” 

“Good morning,” Nolan murmurs. He’s loath to leave this bed, this moment, unsure of what will come now. But there are chores to be done, animals and crops to tend, a small herb garden that Nolan was surprised but pleased to find. 

He makes breakfast while Ivan is out, glad he at least has the skill to do this much. Ivan seems pleased enough with it, and Nolan hopes that will at least spare his backside until he learns what’s expected of him. 

“May I -” Nolan starts, voice catching in his throat as soon as Ivan looks up at him. 

“What is it, Nolan?” 

“Last night. I . . . I didn’t bleed. If the witch hunters come, and they think my - my virtue doesn’t belong to you. They could say it belongs to the Devil.” To say it hurts him, makes his heart skip a beat and terror claw at his throat, but he knows it’s true. He’s not ignorant of the things other people say about him or why the witch hunter had come; he just hopes that Ivan can help him, can at least redeem him in the eyes of the town if nothing else. 

Nolan startles when Ivan stands, crossing the room and picking up his embroidery. He watches in shock as his husband pricks his own finger, squeezing it to get to to bleed before smearing it on their soiled sheets. “There. They may look. But I won’t hurt you just to satisfy them.” 

Moving back towards Nolan, Ivan reaches for him, causing Nolan to flinch before warm, calloused hands are cradling his face. “I don’t believe that there is anything evil about you, and I won’t bow to heretics.” 

With a kiss to his forehead, Nolan is left to mull that over. He cleans up and dares to venture outside, both relieved and ashamed of his relief at being alone. The herb garden is small and clearly struggling, so Nolan kneels and starts to weed. He digs around the clumps of plants and waters them thoroughly, feeling the tingle in his fingertips as he brushes over their tender leaves. Quietly, he pushes all of his good will toward Ivan and this little plot of land outward, hoping for fortune and praying for luck. 

* * *

  
  


Ivan and Nolan attend church every Sunday for three weeks, walking there arm-in-arm. It’s a vast difference, Ivan is sure, from Nolan practically being dragged along by his father. He settles onto Ivan’s pew, and quietly listens to every sermon, every inch the devout man. 

With each day that passes, and every service that goes by without incident, more of the rumor around Nolan starts to fade. That, in and of itself, is a relief; a few days after their wedding, a witch hunter had stopped by, casting a critical eye over the house and farm, the little herb garden on western side and even the hens in their coop. Thankfully, he’d found nothing to call into question, and neither Ivan nor Nolan had seen one since. 

Of course, their luck can only seem to hold out so long. The sun is riding low in the sky when Mr. Patrick stops by, his distaste evident on his face as he steps inside. 

“I came to make sure the boy isn’t being more trouble than he’s worth,” he says, voice snide. Nolan stiffens immediately, but keeps his eyes on his embroidery. 

“We’re doing well, thank you.” 

“I hope so. The minister seemed satisfied, but another witch hunter stopped by earlier this week, asking questions. The magistrate also seems to think you’re due further payment as part of the boy’s dowry, for the trouble.” Carelessly, Mr. Patrick tosses a small purse onto the table. “I hope that will suffice.” 

Ivan opens his mouth to speak, but Nolan is already standing, face flushed and embroidery abandoned on the floor. “I am not some  _ thing _ to be bought and sold,” he bites out.

Mr. Patrick only scoffs at that. “You’re not worth the cattle and silver I paid your husband to take you, less if you are a witch. You would do well to remember your place.” 

He goes to leave, then, turning swiftly on his heel. Ivan has to jump from his chair to keep Nolan from chasing him down, his husband struggling against his hold and screaming curses that morph into nonsensical words and then into wailing sobs. 

Crooning softly at him, Ivan holds Nolan tightly; it’s sure to bruise but Ivan can’t say he knows what would happen if he were to let Nolan go. Eventually, they wind up with Nolan cradled against Ivan’s chest, rather like a small child. He’s sniffling, fingers clinging to Ivan’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” he says tremblingly. Every bit of him is shaking, and Ivan’s heart aches. “I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry.” 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. He has no right to come here and treat you that way. I shouldn't have allowed him to.” Ivan kisses Nolan’s temple, tasting the salt of his sweat. “Let’s get you up. Can you stand?” 

Nolan is shaky on his legs, but they make it to the bed. He curls in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his middle when Ivan returns from fetching him a cup of water. 

“Here. You should drink this,” Ivan murmurs. He has to help Nolan hold the cup, but Nolan dutifully drinks it all. Ivan lays them down, Nolan's face tucked into his neck. 

For a little while, Nolan sleeps, exhausted by his outburst. He attempts to feign sleep after he wakes, but Ivan only lets him hide for so long. 

“I know you’re awake, Nolan,” he says gently. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, love. No harm done.”

* * *

  
  


The next time Mr. Patrick attempts to visit, Ivan sends Nolan out to gather eggs. He’s glad when the man doesn’t linger long, ignoring his thinly veiled insults. After that, Ivan turns the man away, refusing him entrance. He’s sure if Travis Konecny and his parents hadn’t been passing by that it would have come to blows. Only his desire to protect his reputation had kept Mr. Patrick in check. 

Nolan stays home most of the time, as expected, only going into town when Ivan is with him. Ivan worries when he’s out in the fields, glancing toward the house and straining to hear, hoping that he won’t hear the sound of his husband’s cries. 

They venture into town on an unseasonably cool Saturday, needing things from the market and having an invite to lunch with the blacksmith and his wife. It tugs at something tender in Ivan’s chest to see Nolan cradling their young son, his face soft and open as the little boy pats at his cheeks. The boy giggles when Nolan tickles him, and Nolan laughs with him. Ivan startles when Giroux nudges him, but the man only gives him a knowing smile. 

After a while, they leave Ryanne with the baby, Ivan and Nolan following Giroux to his stall to barter about the things Ivan needs. Nolan goes to see about getting some fish, and Ivan doesn’t think anything of it until he hears a shout. He knows in a moment that it’s Nolan and he’s begging Giroux’s pardon as he bolts out of his stall. Nolan is in the street, one arm caught in his father’s grip as he struggles to get away. 

Ivan just manages to grab Mr. Patrick’s arm before he strikes Nolan across the face. Shoving himself between the two men, Ivan wrenches Nolan out of his father’s grip and puts him firmly behind himself. 

“Tell me, what has my husband done to warrant such ire, especially in public?” 

“Your  _ husband _ is a Devil’s bride, an impertinent, prideful  _ brat _ .” 

“Even if there were an ounce of truth to your words, you should bring your complaints to me, instead of insulting my manhood and status as head of my household by presuming to punish my spouse,” Ivan bites. 

For a moment, Mr. Patrick visibly fumes, but with a crowd there is little he can say or do. “Mind yourself, Provorov. One might think he’s bewitched you,” he snaps before stalking away. 

“Come, Nolan.” Ivan gathers their things and leads Nolan home, away from the stares and already-spreading gossip. 

He can’t acknowledge the way Nolan trembles until they’re in the privacy of their own home. He pulls him into his arms, holding him gently. "I won't hurt you, I swear. I couldn't let your father keep thinking he had a right to treat you however he wishes."

“I deserve it.” Nolan’s face is buried in Ivan’s shoulder and his words are quiet and muffled, but Ivan hears it, anyway.

"You don't," Ivan says firmly. "Tell me what it is you've done that deserves being beaten."

“I’m a curse. an embarrassment. I’m not-” Nolan sniffles, and Ivan can feel his shirt getting damp. “I’m not worthy of anyone’s kindness.”

"You're a faithful husband, a good spouse that helps me keep this house in order, and a healer besides. I'm very proud to call you my husband." Ivan holds him tighter. "I'll not stand for anyone ever telling you different."

Nolan doesn’t say anything further, but he clings to Ivan until his shaking subsides.

* * *

Ivan would like to think that he isn’t a fool. He sees how everything around their small parcel seems to flourish since Nolan arrived. One of their goats should’ve lost a leg after getting loose and winding up trapped in a snare, but Nolan had tended the mangled limb and it had healed impossibly fast. Ivan knew that Nolan had a talent for healing - he’s still approached for salves and medicines despite the tarnish on his reputation - but seeing it with his own eyes is a different thing entirely. 

He very, very gently brings it up one night when they're tucked in together. Nolan's body is bare against him, still flushed and a little sweaty from their lovemaking.

“You never have to hide yourself from me,” Ivan whispers. “Your secrets are mine to keep. no matter what they may be. I will take them to my grave for you.”

Nolan tenses and is silent for so long that Ivan has begun to resign himself to allowing him to keep his secrets. "I would never do what they say I've done," Nolan finally says fearfully, even as he clings tighter to Ivan. It's admission enough, and Ivan doesn't press him further. 

"I know. I love you, Nolan. You don’t have to say it back,” Ivan assures him when Nolan stills next to him. “I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I will always stand with you. You are my husband, and I will always love and protect you above all others.”

“I’ve been afraid to love you.” It comes out soft, so softly Ivan can barely hear it. “I thought - if you knew . . . I couldn’t bear it, to have loved you if you turned from me.”

"I can understand your fear. Carrying that kind of secret weighs on you."

Nolan sniffles and hides his face against Ivan’s chest. “You’re more than I could have ever hoped for in a husband.”

Ivan presses his lips to Nolan’s forehead, holding him close and saying a soft prayer of thanks before pulling the blankets over them.


End file.
